


Changeling

by KagekaNecavi



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Changelings, Dark Fairy Tale Elements, Explicit Language, Fae & Fairies, Happy Ending, M/M, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 18:23:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KagekaNecavi/pseuds/KagekaNecavi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Harry's death and V-Day, Eggsy is simply trying to put his best foot forward as a Kingsman agent and move on with his new life. It's difficult, but he's adapting, and now that Dean is gone and he has a solid support system in Roxy and his fellow agents, he's coping.</p>
<p>When he stumbles through a fairy ring and into a world very unlike his own, the Fairy Queen gives him a wish. He knows she's only offering to satisfy her own amusement, but he still asks for Harry to be alive again. The next morning, thinking the whole adventure was nothing more than a strange dream, he discovers that Harry is alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Changeling

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks very much to [CloudyJenn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudyjenn/pseuds/cloudyjenn) for her speedy and super helpful beta work, especially because this isn't really one of her fandoms. Thanks also go to [Missbecky](http://archiveofourown.org/users/missbecky/pseuds/missbecky) for her constant encouragement not only to sign up for the bang but as I was writing.
> 
> Gorgeous, gorgeous art by marourin can be found here on [AO3](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4635903) or here on [tumblr](http://marourin.tumblr.com/post/127370600862/the-last-thing-he-does-as-he-does-every-night). Please give the art all the love!
> 
> Please see end notes for further warnings/clarification of fic warnings.

By the time Eggsy slows down enough after V Day to realize that there should have been a funeral for Harry, the Yanks had apparently taken care of things.

“What the bloody fuck does that mean?” Eggsy demands of Merlin, who is standing in while they figure out who the new Arthur will be, “The Yanks ‘took care of it,’ what does that mean?” They’re in the

“We don’t get real funerals.” Merlin explains, calm and controlled in the face of Eggsy’s anger, “We’re the most secret organization in the world, even after the V Day massacre. We can’t be shipping bodies back to our secret headquarters for a funeral. Standard procedure is that the local agency takes the body and disposes of it, then reports to the agent’s superior when it’s taken care of. Once we have our new Arthur, it will be one of the dozens of things they have to sort through.”

“That’s fuckin’ stupid.” Eggsy grumbles.

“That can’t be helped.” Merlin shakes his head. He pauses and assesses Eggsy a moment, then says, words carefully chosen, “Eggsy … Harry was my friend. We were very good friends, in a line of work in which it is difficult to earn someone’s trust. I know what you meant to him, and what he meant to you.”

The words, meant to be a comfort, feel more like a slap. Harry and Eggsy had only had one day together, really. That amazing twenty four hour period that had started getting very interesting when Harry had shown Eggsy his newspaper clippings. As Harry instructed Eggsy on the proper way to make a martini, they’d ended up further and further inside each other’s personal bubbles, and eventually they’d kissed each other, the move so spontaneous and passionate and mutual that Eggsy still had no idea who initiated it. Eggsy had wanted to get underneath Harry’s immaculate suit ever since Harry had kicked the shite out of Dean’s goons in the pub, and he’d finally had his chance. Afterwards,they’d promised each other more once Eggsy became Lancelot. Harry’s confidence in Eggsy had made pleasure bloom bright and warm in his chest. But Eggsy had fucked up his final test, and then the church had happened and … everything is fucked now.

So knowing that someone else _knows_  just isn’t the comfort it clearly is meant to be.

Merlin continues, either not noticing Eggy’s distress or not noticing the true cause of it, “I know you would have wanted a proper burial for him, but Kingsman is a top secret agency. The burial he deserved would blow our cover.”

Eggsy scowls, but accepts it. He knows secrecy is important. They saved the world at V-Day, and while it had been inevitable that the story had leaked out, none of the press mentioned who had stopped the rage, just reporting on the aggression everyone had felt, the death of so many world leaders. And once the leaders that had been held hostage returned to civilization and could tell their story, they’d been able to report that Valentine was behind it all.

* * *

 

When Eggsy was a child, after his dad died and when it was still just him and his mum, they spent a lot of time with his grandmother. She was his mum’s mum, her name was Muirín, and she was very Irish, even after having moved to London, married an Englishman, and had a very English daughter. Her house, a small cottage in the country, had been a good drive away, and most of the time Eggsy had fallen asleep on the way there. Michelle had never seemed to mind, and at Eggsy’s request she’d always woken him when they got close. Seeing the drive up to the cottage was one of the most beautiful things Eggsy had ever seen in his young life.

The cottage looked like it had stepped out of time. There were flowers everywhere in the garden, and all along the stone that outlined the property. There were a few trees off in one corner, tall and strong. A small stoneware dish sat next to the front door.

Michelle always knocked, but then she pushed the door open anyway, Eggsy ‘helping’ in the way that children loved to help even when they usually didn’t make much difference at all because the door was old and heavy, and his grandmother always met them as they stepped in and pushed the door shut behind them. Muirín would hug Michelle first, then scoop Eggsy up, her arms surprisingly strong and firm and warm for as old as she seemed to him, hugging him close and kissing his cheeks, calling him pet names in Irish that he had been unable to remember into adulthood. She always smelled just like the flowers that grew outside of her house - which she sometimes picked and dried in her kitchen, or dug up offshoots of to use the roots for something.

There were only two bedrooms there, so Eggsy slept in the same bed as his mother, curled up beside her and warm in her protective arms, blanketed in a homemade quilt. Eggsy loved it there.

* * *

 

Growing up with Dean in the house, Eggsy doesn’t often think about his childhood, blissfully happy before Lee had died, moderately happy but mournful after. By the time Eggsy is a Kingsman, it is habit not to think too much about his past.

So when he sees the house that Kingsman has provided him, he is surprised by the fact that he is instantly reminded of his grandmother’s cottage. There’s nothing really in common between the two places. The house Kingsman has given him has more square footage than his grandmother’s cottage would have if you’d stuck two of them together. The house is modern, in London, and neatly wedged between two other houses. There is, however, a small garden in the back. Their new Arthur says, amusement in her voice, that one can’t expect a dog with a bladder as small as JB to hold it for long, so Eggsy got the house with the postage stamp sized patch of grass. Eggsy’s not sure if he’s amused by this new Arthur’s sense of humor or irritated by it.

Over the next few weeks Eggsy happens to meet several of his new neighbors. They’re mostly young professionals, one set of them trying for children, and another one even invites him to tea one Saturday afternoon. He decides that day that it’s definitely his specific house, not the neighborhood, that reminds him of his grandmother’s house, because he doesn’t get the same feeling there. Even just looking at their houses doesn’t give the same sense.

He ignores it, decides it must have to do with the feeling of **home**  combined with the sense of loss. When he’d first begun to go to his grandmother’s house with his mum, that had been a very prevalent combination.

So he invites Michelle and Daisy to live with him. There’s four bedrooms there, three on the upper floor and one on the lower, and all three on the upper have their own bathrooms. It’s more than roomy enough for all of them. He has a feeling it’s a bonus for dispatching Valentine, an incentive considering they know he has his mum and baby sister to take care of, or Kingsman still working through their guilt about Lee. He’s not sure which he prefers.

Getting to beat the shite out of Dean and his goons is so satisfying, and he helps Michelle pack up Daisy and their things right after, in between promising his mum that he’ll help her win custody of Daisy from Dean, that he knows people who have lawyers now, that they can do it and be away from him forever soon.

When they get to the house and Michelle sees how big it is, she shoots him a look. He has a feeling she knows that there’s more to what he’s doing than just being a tailor, but neither of them say anything about it.

* * *

 

“What’s that?” Young Eggsy asked, peering over his grandmother’s shoulder as she tended to her garden. She looked up at him, smiling, and stood. Muirín took his hand, ignoring the dirt on her long skirts, and walked him around the garden.

“That’s meadowsweet, gorse, knapweed, red clover,” She said, pointing to each as they went, naming off dozens of different kinds of plants. When they reached the corner of the garden, Muirín pointed up and up and up. “These are oaks. And you see over there?” This time she was pointing behind the oaks, at a circle about ten feet across.

Eggsy looked. “The mushrooms?”

“Yes, very good!” She kissed his cheek, then blew a little raspberry into his cheek, making him giggle. “The mushrooms are in a circle. That’s called a fairy ring. You must be very careful when you’re around fairy rings. Don’t go into them and don’t play around them.”

“Why not?” Eggsy asked, peering at the ring, a frown on his tiny face.

“Because fairies are not like they are in those stories they tell children nowadays. They like to play tricks on us, but their idea of a trick might mean taking you for years and years. That would make your mother and I very sad.” Muirín began to lead them away from the fairy ring, and Eggsy glanced back at it. He didn’t know if the stories she told were true, but he’d stay away from the ring anyway.

* * *

 

The new Arthur has an absolutely shite sense of humor.

Eggsy kind of thinks she’s hilarious.

“Mordred?” Eggsy asks, sitting in the same chair in the dining room of the shop on Savile Row that he’d sat in when he and the previous Arthur had had their ‘chat’.

“We have our traditional knight names, but we also have what you might call special circumstance names. There's Merlin, of course. We once had a rather exceptional trainee who couldn’t run missions believably for anything, but he was an amazing assassin. He ended up Excalibur. You are Mordred, in honor of your killing Chester King." Arthur explains.

"And you're not worried that that's, you know, ominous?" Eggsy asks, frowning. That's a traitor's name. It sounds like they want him to turn on them.

"Eggsy, what you did took a lot of courage. You're compassionate - you're the only Kingsman I've ever known who had gotten in without shooting their dog - but you've proved yourself more than willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done. What this all tells me is that you do your job without compromise. And if that scares the agents that work with you, then I want to know what they're hiding. We are the modern day knights, and we need to be able to trust each other, but that trust needn't be blind." Arthur says, and then her voice softens slightly, "The other name I might have given you was Galahad, but I think you two may have been too close for you to be comfortable with that."

Eggsy appreciates that. It would have been very, very hard to work as Galahad. He would have always been looking over his shoulder for Harry. But he still thinks the whole thing is weird and morbid. There are other names available, too - Kay and Gawain died on V-Day, and Tristan died several days after V-Day as a result of wounds received - but if Arthur is trying to make a statement with his codename, then she certainly made it.

* * *

 

Right before sunset, every night, Muirín would bring in the stoneware dish and fill it with milk. Then she'd take some bread - baked herself, with good thick crusts - and soak it in the milk. A spoonful of honey was drizzled in, and she would take it outside and set it carefully beside the door.

Several mornings after Eggsy had first seen her do this, he crept out of need early and went down to see what had happened to the bowl. It was empty and clean looking.

That night, when she brought the bowl in, he was waiting.

"Why are you doing that?" Eggsy asked, frowning curiously.

"Because the fairies like it.” Muirín said, simply.

“But you said they like to play tricks.” Eggsy was confused now, watching her bring the milk in and bring the bread out of the box, setting them beside the bowl.

“They do. But if you’re nice to them, they are nice to you in return.” Muirín smiled, and handed him the milk. “Would you like to help?” Eggsy nodded, and poured the milk as she continued to talk. “If you’re good to the fairies, they make sure your garden stays pest and weed free, they make sure your shoes stay free of holes, your roof never leaks, your babies and grandbabies grow up healthy.”

“So they’re mean when you don’t do anything and they’re nice when you’re nice first?” Eggsy asked, watching her put the bread in.

“No. More like they play tricks because they like to have fun. But because their idea of fun is very different than our idea of fun, it seems to us like they’re just playing tricks.” She drizzled honey over the milk and the bread, then handed Eggsy the bowl, letting him carry it outside and set it beside the door. “It’s very important to be their friends, though, because they like to help their friends out with the little things. And if you ever get into some very big trouble, they might see fit to help you then, too. Especially if it’s fun for them.”

“What if you don’t put any milk out?” Eggsy asked, curiously. They never did any of this at the apartment that he and his mother lived at.

“If I were to stop they would probably be cross with me. But where you live it won’t matter. You live in a city, and you don’t have any grass or fairy rings near your house. They probably don’t visit there, so they won’t be too offended.” Muirín said, seeming to know exactly what he was thinking. “In fact, putting milk out at your house, without any fair rings nearby, would probably be a waste.”

Eggsy nodded. That made a lot of sense to him.

* * *

 

There is a short break between missions for both Roxy and Eggsy, and they spend some of that time taking their dogs to a park about a block from Roxy’s new place. Her family has money, of course, but she’s still getting a salary and benefits just like Eggsy is, including a home near the shop on Savile Row. Hers is near to a dog park, and apparently she likes to jog with the poodle sometimes in the mornings.

Stupid tall dog can actually keep up with her.

“Why’d you do it?” Eggsy asks, the second afternoon they take the dogs to the park, and Roxy is gently working a bramble out of the poodle’s fur.

“Do what?” Roxy asks, glancing up.

“You were named Lancelot. So you shot the dog.” Eggsy says, watching her hands, careful and gentle, work their way through the dog’s fur. She really seems to care for the dog as much as Eggsy does for JB.

“Yes, I did. Kingsman is an amazing opportunity. I couldn’t let a dog get in the way of that. Plus …” She smiles at him and shrugs, “As much as they tried to dress the room like it was going to kill the dog, I’d heard of this before. Testing the loyalty of an agent by having them kill a dog, using a blank. I didn’t think they would have me actually kill her.”

“You’ve heard of this before? Other people use that crazy test?” Eggsy asks, both eyebrows arched.

“I’ve heard of the test. I don’t know if other people use it or if it’s just Kingsman, because it’s one of those myths that you hear a different group associated with the myth every time. I never thought anyone actually did it until Merlin told me to shoot my dog.” Roxy admits, shrugging. Now that the brambles have been worked out of the poodle’s fur, she tosses a ball for it, and the poodle shoots off after the ball. JB, the little fucker, rolls over beside Eggsy’s leg and gives Eggsy the ‘please pet me’ look.

Eggsy, because he’s a sucker, rubs JB’s belly.

They go to Roxy’s and have lunch there, chatting and catching up. Before this, they’d been on missions almost constantly since V-Day. Sometimes they’ve worked together, but most of the time they’ve been separated. There’s been just too much work to be done, too many different missions to do.

Eventually, Roxy asks, “So how are you doing? We haven’t had much of a chance to talk - really talk - since Harry.”

“Did everybody know about us?” Eggsy demands, frowning.

“I only know because Merlin wanted me to keep an eye on you, that first mission afterwards.” Roxy explains. “But you are working with a group of spies. We can be pretty damn perceptive.”

“It’s hard, okay?” Eggsy says after a moment, sighing. “We had a night together before Kentucky, and then Kentucky happened, and he died and it’s been rough. I fell hard for him.”

“You had a night together - _that’s_  what you did for your 24 hours?” Roxy scoots a little closer, leaning in and grinning. She looks like she’s gossiping with her girlfriends or something … which is possibly exactly what she’s doing. That’s sort of what they are. Best friends, forged by the fire of their training.

“Well what’d you and Percival do for your 24 hours?” Eggsy asks.

“Talked about the job, what of it he could tell me before I had actually gotten the job. About my family - he knows my mother, and that’s how he knows me - about what kind of competition we each thought you would be if we both passed the next test.” Roxy shrugs. “He also took me out horseback riding. It’s a favorite pastime of both of ours. At the end of the ride, we went bow hunting.”

“It took you a whole day to do that?” Eggsy frowns, trying to imagine that fitting into a day.

“You and Harry managed to force sex to drag out into a whole day?” Roxy counters, but she’s teasing.

“We did other stuff.” Eggsy grumbles, and gives her a light kick.

Roxy laughs, and they talk about other things for a while, before he eventually heads home. When he and JB get home, the pug has to stop at the little patch of yard to do his business. Eggsy waits impatiently for him, and then they go inside.

JB has to use the little patch of grass several more times again before night fall, and the whole time it’s a regular, ordinary patch of grass. When he needs to use it again in the morning, first thing when Eggsy is yawning and stretching and running his hands through his sleep rumpled hair, watching the pug run out of the door, the grass is different.

There’s a fairy ring there.

Eggsy rushes forward for JB, terrified the dog might cross the ring, his grandmother’s words coming back to him, but the dog seems to instinctively know to avoid it, doing his business in an opposite corner and then trotting on back inside, faster than usual. Normally JB wants to sniff at everything, find out about all of the small creatures that may have been around his territory overnight, but this time he’s all business. Eggsy doesn’t blame him.

He doesn’t get called in for a mission that day, though he does need to go in and do training and paperwork, and when he comes home, the last thing he does before bed is set a bowl of milk and honey and crusty bread outside of his door. Just in case.

* * *

 

“Stop staring at the ring.” Muirín said, leaning over Eggsy, startling him. He was sitting near the back of her property, staring at the fairy ring, waiting for the fairies to _do something_.

“What? I’m not doing anything!” Eggsy protested, standing and giving her a quick hug. She laughed and kissed his head, running a calloused hand through his hair.

“You’re staring, and that’s quite rude.” She said, taking his hand and leading him back to the cottage, “Let me guess, you want to see them?”

“Yes! You talk about them all the time, but I’ve never seen them.” Eggsy swung their hands a little bit, sighing.

Muirín smiled, and eventually she said, “You must understand, Eggsy, I have only rarely seen them myself. Never eye to eye, like I see you, but usually out of the corner of my eyes, flitting from place to place as they play.” Eggsy frowned.

“How do you know they’re real?”

“Who else drinks the milk? Who keeps my shoes in good repair, my roof from leaking, my wall standing? I’ve never needed new shoes, or roof repairs, or wall repairs, or a dozen other little things that I should have needed, in all the years I’ve lived at this cottage.” She explained, and Eggsy nodded.

“But what if I **really**  want to see them? Could I go into the ring then?” Eggsy asked, and she knelt in front of him suddenly.

“Promise me. Promise me you will never go into the ring unless you absolutely must.” Her grip was a little too tight, and her voice probably a little too urgent, but it got Eggsy to nod.

“Yes, grandmum. I promise.”

“Good.” She kissed his forehead, then said, quietly, “But if something happens, and you ever see them, or you have to follow them in, there are a few things you should know.” Eggsy nodded and watched her attentively. “Don’t trust them. They’ll tell you the truth, but they’ll twist it. Word it in such a way that doesn’t sound like the truth. Don’t ever eat their food or drink anything they give you. That gives them power over you. They can _keep_  you if you eat or drink what comes from their world.”

Muirín looked over him carefully and added, “And when you get older, don’t dance with them. It’s so easy to get caught up in one of their dances. You can dance yourself to death, or spend months or years in what you think is only a few hours. Iron is their major weakness. But understand. Never, ever go looking for a fight. Only fight them if they fight you first.”

Eggsy nodded. “Yes grandmum. Of course.”

She looked at him, making sure he understood, and then kissed his head, leading him into the kitchen for a snack.

* * *

 

It’s inevitable that eventually Eggsy will have a mission that doesn’t go so well. Everyone has them. Eggsy was just hoping that he’d avoid it for a while.

He and Ector both survive the mission, which is something, but Ector will be in hospital for a while and it’s Eggsy’s fault. So once he’s debriefed and is no longer needed - Arthur tells him to take a few days to rest, because the mission was stressful - instead of heading right home Eggsy calls up his mates and heads to the pub.

Things are different now between him and his mates. Not _very_  different, but different enough that he can tell, and he drinks even more. By the time he heads home, sometime after one in the morning, he’s utterly pissed. He’s had more to drink than he has since before Kingsman, and rather than calling a cab or catching the bus, he staggers home. It’s a much longer walk than it was before, but he doesn’t care. It gives him time to clear his head a little.

Not enough, though.

By the time he gets home, he’s still more than drunk enough to do something stupid, and he sees the fairy ring in the tiny patch of grass and decides that is more than stupid enough. Every night he’s home, he sets out the milk and honey and bread, and every morning, like clockwork, it is gone before he wakes up. Something is drinking and eating it, leaving the bowl and the stoop neat and clean.

Michelle insists that it’s a fox or stray cat or something, and that they’re going to get pests if he keeps it up, but Eggsy has never really been so sure. Now is a fantastic time to test it.

Eggsy remembers enough of what his grandmother told him that when he goes over to the fairy ring, he doesn’t just go into it. He walks around it, carefully counting out ten circuits. On his ninth, he thinks he sees flickers out of the corners of his eyes, but he doesn’t focus on them, just making sure he’s walking where he wants to.

Once he’s gone around ten times, he walks into the fairy ring and stands in the middle.

Nothing happens.

He frowns, and thinks he can hear something, something faint and far off. It could be either be a neighbor’s wind chime, or it might be a faint, bell-like laugh.

Of course it’s a wind chime. Why does he think it’s a laugh?

Frustration and embarrassment creeping up and making his face flush even more than it already is, he walks straight ahead, through to the other side of the circle.

Instead of coming out on the other side of the tiny patch of grass, facing his house, he ends up surrounded by trees, and the sound, now sounding even more like laughter, comes again, right behind him. Whirling around, he sees somewhere between a dozen and two dozen tiny white creatures - fairies? - dancing and laughing in a circle behind him. They’re holding hands as they dance, and after a moment he realizes they’re the same exact height and configuration as the mushrooms.

He takes a deep, steadying breath. Either his grandmother was very, _very_ right or he is far more drunk than he thought. Or someone slipped him something. That sounds like a good explanation for what’s going on.

Slowly, he turns around and surveys his surroundings. Between the trees off in the distance is a cluster of lights, and he thinks he can hear something in that direction, so he sets off.

The closer he gets, the more clear it is - the sound is some kind of party. Music and voices, but both unlike he’s ever heard. The music is clear and crisp and deep and resounding, echoing in his soul. Eggsy’s never been much of a dancer, never been the type to be easily moved by music, but this music makes him want to weep with sorrow and dance with joy and yet he doesn’t feel at all like those emotions are conflicting with each other. The voices are in languages he’s never heard, languages that barely even sound Earthly, and many of them sounding eerie - sounding somehow out of the range of human production, but in a way that Eggsy can’t quite pin down.

Eventually Eggsy gets to the where they are. A large clearing in the forest, lights hanging suspended all around the clearing with seemingly nothing to hold them up, and creatures of all shapes and sizes and kinds fill the clearing. Many of them look like they could pass for human, but many of them do not. A few glance his way when he enters the clearing, and he hears whispers all around, but for the most part they ignore him. They’re talking and dancing and eating and drinking - their food and drink looks just as strange and alien as they do - but across the clearing there is one creature, who looks like a woman, were she human, that sits up and takes notice of him.

By now Eggsy feels much more sober than he had felt. Either it’s been longer than he thinks or something about this strange world has sobered him up. The woman across the clearing is the most beautiful woman that Eggsy has ever seen, and yet it is very clear just by glancing at her that she’s not a woman at all. Not a  _human_ woman, at least. Everything here is so unnatural and yet so natural. Her obvious inhumanity blends in and seems downright normal compared to some of the other beings she’s standing with.

Then again, in this company Eggsy is probably the abnormal one.

Eggsy makes his way over to her, and nods his head. It feels right, feels respectful and gentlemanly while at the same time not giving her too much power. She makes a low, approving sound, and says, her English accented in a way he’s never heard before and he doesn’t think he will ever again hear, “Tell me, child, how did you come to be with us this fine evening?”

“A fairy ring appeared in my yard. I went through it.” Eggsy shrugs and smiles. “I feel honored that it worked.”

“You’ve been setting out an offering, witch woman’s grandson. Of course we opened our doors for you.” She says, smiling. “So few practice the old ways anymore.”

“I’m glad you were pleased. My grandmother taught me how to set out offerings.” Eggsy nods again, staying as respectful as possible though he’s sort of offended at the Queen calling his grandmother a witch. He words his question the way he thinks Harry might have, if he’d been with him. And alive. “May I ask to whom do I have the honor of speaking?”

“I am the Fairy Queen of my court,” the woman says, her voice a bit less warm than before. He wonders what he did wrong, but she continues, “If you must address me, do so as Your Highness.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” Eggsy says, solemn, to reinforce her superiority.

“And what shall we call you? Witch woman’s grandson is hardly a name.” The Fairy Queen asks, and Eggsy realizes, with her tone, that bringing up names might have been a bad idea. Now he remembers, foggy with time, a reference from his grandmother or her books about true names being bad to give to fairies.

“Mordred,” he says instead, the first thing he thinks of. Too slowly he realizes that his name is  _actually_ Gary and that Eggsy itself is a nickname, but what’s done is done.

The Fairy Queen laughs at him. “Child, someone needs to talk to you about names and their power.” He has no idea what she means - Mordred is his call sign, not his name - and so he stays silent. She shakes her head and says, “Fairy friend, witch woman’s grandson, named after Morgan le Fay’s own child … I think I will give you a wish.”

“Why?” Eggsy asks, instantly suspicious.

“What did your grandmother tell you of us that might let you know why I want to give you something? Can you remember?” She asks, her voice practically purring.

Yes, Eggsy remembers. Friend or foe, they like to have _fun_. They’ll give him something as long as it will be entertaining for them. As he thinks it over, he asks, stalling for time and also genuinely curious, “How do you know about my grandmother? Why do you keep calling her a witch?”

“She was. Don’t you remember the dried flowers, herbs and poultices? A witch, proper and traditional, is not an insult. She was a woman to be respected.” The Fairy Queen makes a gesture, and while it’s not one Eggsy has ever seen, he understands that respect is meant to be conveyed. “And as for how we know you’re her grandson, there are a few things. Your blood, the blood of the fairy friend, sings to us, and we to you in return. You felt us at your home, when you first moved in, didn’t you?” Eggsy nods, mutely, and she continues, “And we also remember you. Small, a child, following your grandmother around as we watched her in her garden.”

Something in the way the Fairy Queen speaks feels odd to Eggsy, and after a moment he realizes what it is. She’s switching between singular and plural. ‘I want’ as opposed to ‘we remember’. He’s not sure if it means something or not, but he tries to remember it. He thinks for a moment more, and then he speaks, barely meaning to, having not quite even made the decision to make a wish, and yet knowing exactly what wish he’ll make.

“I want Harry Hart back. I want him to be alive and well again.”

“Very well.” In a flash, she’s in front of him, instead of on her throne, and pressing their lips together.

The next thing Eggsy knows, he’s sitting up in bed, gasping. He feels like he’s run a marathon, like he’s fought his way out of Valentine’s bunker again. What the hell? Had it been a dream? As he climbs out of bed to go hit the head, maybe splash some water on his face, he decides that it had to have been. It’s too unbelievable to have actually happened.

* * *

 

Michelle had learned many of the same things that Eggsy had from Muirín. After all, Muirín was her mother, and though Michelle grew up in the city, Muirín still taught her what she knew. But away from the country, away from the enchanted feel of the cottage that Eggsy knew when they visited his grandmother, it didn’t sink into Michelle’s bones the way it did Eggsy’s.

But when Eggsy was ten, Muirín died, and because Michelle didn’t believe in fairies at all, that was the end of that. If Muirín hadn’t died, or if Michelle had believed, or maybe if she’d just held on to the stories a little bit more, she might have been able to pass on more knowledge to Eggsy, and he might have been more prepared for things to come.

* * *

 

The next morning, when he properly wakes, his head is … not bothering him that much, actually. Not as much as he would have thought considering he’d gotten completely pissed, couldn’t remember how he’d gotten from the yard to his bed, and had weird as fuck dreams about talking to fairies and making deals with them. He remembers the dream with vivid clarity, as if it had actually happened, which is rare for him. Sure, sometimes he remembers his dreams, but it’s never that vivid.

He dresses, eats a little breakfast with Michelle and Daisy, gives them both hugs, and heads out. When he gets to Kingsman, things are absolutely frantic.

“Eggsy! Oh my god, Eggsy!” Roxy says, grabbing his arm and tugging him along, the hangar. “We’re to get on a plane at once and go with Merlin and Arthur to America. Arthur is furious they didn’t tell her.”

“What’s going on, Rox? I just got here, I have no idea what’s happening.” Eggsy says, though he follows her obediently.

She stops when he says that, though, staring at him for wide eyes with a moment before responding. “The American branch just called. They said that Harry is alive.”

Eggsy sprints for the hangar.

On the long, far too long, flight to America, they’re briefed. Harry was found, alive, by the local police, who had taken him to a hospital. His glasses had been broken in the commotion, which is why they had never known before now. Apparently he was lucky to survive after that, only managing to because when V-Day happened, he’d been out of surgery and in an isolated room. After V-Day, the American branch had found him and taken him to their location. They’d not told Arthur that he was alive, because they hadn’t been sure he would live, or that he would ever wake, even after much of the healing had happened. The moment he’d woken, they’d contacted Arthur and let her know everything.

They land right in the American Kingsman hangar, and rush into the medical ward to see Harry, looking freshly shaved and trimmed, waiting on them patiently. There’s a scar running across the side of his head, biting into his hairline, above his left eyebrow. Otherwise he looks just as Eggsy remembers. He looks _perfect_. He gives them a quirked smile. “Well, it’s not gentlemanly to keep one waiting. And I have been waiting quite a while for you to fetch me.”

Eggsy bursts out laughing. Harry wouldn’t know punctuality if it bit him in the ass, and that dancing look in his eye says he full well knows the hypocrisy in his words. He wants to cross over to him and kiss that stupid smirk off Harry’s face, but Merlin and Arthur are by Harry’s side first.

“It’s good to see you up and about again, Harry.” Merlin says, shaking Harry’s hand and clapping his shoulder.

“Welcome back, Galahad.” Arthur takes Harry’s hand once Merlin has released it.

“Thank you both. You’re Arthur now from what I hear?” Harry asks, smiling at them a little.

They chat for a few moments and then Arthur turns a bit towards where Eggsy and Roxy stand, gesturing them forward. “And, of course, you’ve met the new recruits. Well let me reintroduce them to you. Galahad, meet Lancelot and Mordred.”

“Mordred?” Harry looks _very_  amused now, “That’s not a typical name. Well done, Eggsy. And well done to you, too, Roxy. I obviously preferred Eggsy, but out of the other candidates, you were who I would have chosen to take Lancelot’s name.”

“Thank you, sir.” Roxy says, smiling.

Within a few hours they’re on the plane again. Eggsy is certain the only reason he is there is because Arthur and Merlin knew Harry would want to see him, and the only reason Roxy is there is in case they’d misunderstood the news and Eggsy had needed a friend. As they fly back, the time is mostly spent with Arthur, Merlin, and Harry chatting with each other. This time, instead of Merlin flying the plane himself, they actually have a pilot. Eggsy and Roxy sometimes have something to add, but for the most part they just listen in. Roxy keeps giving Eggsy amused and indulgent glances, as if she knows something. Eggsy doesn’t care - he’s so happy that Harry is back that he feels like he could burst.

When they land again back at the London branch, Arthur says, “I do need to brief Galahad on everything he’s missed, but we can do that tomorrow. For now, you and Mordred have until tomorrow morning off.”

Eggsy feels a little embarrassed at the reminder that everyone seems to have known about him and Harry, but then Harry’s hand is on the small of his back, and Harry says, “Thank you, Arthur. See you in the morning.” They all go their separate ways, Harry and Eggsy heading off together, and the moment they’re out of view of anyone else, Harry shoves Eggsy against a wall and kisses him, possessive and claiming.

The kiss surprises Eggsy, and his mouth opens in shock, and Harry’s tongue dives in before he knows what’s happening. He kisses back after a moment, moaning and wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist, gripping tightly. Though he’s young, he’s by no means inexperienced, and he’s still never had a kiss like this. It feels like Harry is fucking his mouth with his tongue, hot and wet and filthy.

Not at all gentlemanly.

Harry pulls away before Eggsy can figure out if it’s ungentlemanly because they both  _want_  so much or because there’s something wrong, and he takes Eggsy’s hand. “There’s more where that came from.” Somehow Harry makes it an offer, a promise, and a challenge all rolled into one. Between the kiss and Harry’s words, Eggsy is rock hard.

“Let’s go back to yours, then?” Eggsy asks, and Harry nods. While they’d flown back over, Harry’s effects had been returned, including house key, and Arthur had mentioned that his home had been kept the way it was.

Eggsy’s body calms down a little on the way there, but the moment they get inside with the door shut, Harry has him pressed against the door and is kissing him just as roughly and possessively and filthily as he had back at headquarters. It comes as a shock again, because Eggsy had assumed that the other kiss was as intense as it was because it was the first after being apart for so long, because they’d been in public. But for Harry to kiss him like that in private is something else.

Their night together before had been intense, but it hadn’t been this rough. Harry had insisted that a gentleman always made sure they were both enjoying themselves. If that meant rough treatment, that was fine, but they needed to both discuss it first. Harry had been big on communication that night. So this is a little strange, but they had talked before about things they liked, and so this time could just be Harry knowing Eggsy doesn’t mind rough.

Either way, Eggsy doesn’t mind it when Harry drags them off to the couch, sits on it, and pushes Eggsy to his knees. He definitely wants it, and it pushes all thoughts of anything but giving Harry pleasure right out of his head.

* * *

 

Eggsy remembers the very first night they had together, the discussion they’d had, with crystal clarity, despite the probably few-too-many martinis they’d both had. “A gentleman doesn’t mark his partner where it can be seen above the cut of regular clothing,” Harry had said, primly, even as he’d sucked marks into Eggsy’s hipbones, into his thigh, into his belly, “As appealing as the idea is, it is garish and egotistical. It implies you think you own your partner, and you do not. Marking is for the two of you, and the two of you alone.”

Looking in the mirror, two weeks after Harry has returned to them, Eggsy can very clearly see the hickey under his jaw. It’s only the latest in a line of strange, out of character behavior. Harry has been on time to every single meeting he’s been in since he’s gotten back. Every one! That even had old man at the shop at Savile Row asking Eggsy if Harry was sick.

It’s not like they don’t all know he and Harry are together anyway. He’s spent most of his time since Harry has been back at Harry’s place, rather than his own - to the point where Michelle called and said that she and Daisy have started to miss him. They head into work together, and they often eat together. Roxy has told him that anyone with eyes can see how they feel, and considering they work with spies there’s no chance at keeping it quiet.

Still, the hickey bothers him. Probably more than it should. He’s making a mountain of a molehill, right?

He heads out of the bathroom, kissing Harry as a greeting, and they head into the shop. They’re briefed on a new mission and head out right way. The two of them haven’t ever actually gotten to work together, and Eggsy is eager to do so this time. The mission is simple, and the only reason two of them are going is because they expect there to be the possibility of a lot of security that might need to be taken care of quickly. That’s Harry’s part of the mission. Eggsy’s portion is to get information out of a young man a few years older than him.

The mission goes smoothly until after Eggsy gets the information. He’d sized the guy up and started off seducing him, which had worked really well. It hadn’t exactly been a honeypot mission, but it hadn’t exactly been _not_  a honeypot, either. A little bit of sex had been the fastest way to get him to spill the beans.

Afterwards, though, things get hectic. They have to fight their way out, and he loses track of Harry. When he finds him again, Harry is standing over the body of the man that Eggsy had gotten the information from. Harry’s glasses are halfway across the room, facing the wall, and the man looks beaten to death.

“Harry!!” Eggsy says, startled, eyes wide. There is something _wrong_. So, so wrong. Shit, Eggsy fucked up. The thing he dismissed as a dream, with the fairies. It couldn’t have been a dream. They brought Harry back - Harry had gotten shot in the head, he should have died - and Eggsy had fucked up. He remembers the Fairy Queen, remembers what his grandmother always said. Fairies want nothing so much as they want their own fun. And it felt like a miracle that Harry came back, felt so amazing, but little things have built up and built up and now he knows.

This is not Harry.

“He tried to kill me.” not-Harry says, going over and getting his glasses, shoving them on his nose. Eggsy feels himself nod.

“Okay. Let’s get back to Kingsman, yeah?” Eggsy says, mind spinning. What the fuck is he going to do? He doesn’t have real proof, so he can’t kill him - not that Eggsy thinks he could anyway, because as much as he _knows_ this isn’t Harry, he doesn’t think he could kill something with Harry’s face - or bring him to the others. He’ll get them back and he’ll figure it out from there.

But he doesn’t have much of a chance to think, because as soon as they get back, not-Harry goes to brief Arthur and Eggsy is cornered by Merlin.

“What the fuck did you do, boy?” Merlin hisses, glaring fiercely, shoving Eggsy against a wall and pinning him there.

“What are you talking about?” Eggsy asks, though he thinks he knows.

“What did you do to get Harry back? That is not Harry. He killed a man for touching you, he wears gloves every time he has to touch anything metal, he doesn’t act like himself, left a hickey on your jaw like you’re his slut. Do I need to go on?” Merlin asks, and Eggsy gapes. He hadn’t even noticed the metal thing, but now it’s obvious. This strange not-Harry thing has been using gloves almost constantly, and that actually makes sense. Fairies don’t like iron.

“You’re not going to believe me.” Eggsy says after a moment, shaking his head.

“Try me. I was raised a stone’s throw away from a river haunted by bean nighe.” Merlin says, his Scottish brogue thick on the last two words. He knows what’s going on, or has a vague idea, if he mentioned something like that.

“I went into a fairy ring.” Eggsy admits, sagging, “The Queen gave me a wish, and I asked for Harry.”

“Fuck.” Merlin lets go and takes a step back, giving Eggsy his breathing room. “You fucked up.”

“I know! Jesus, Merlin, don’t you think I know?!” Eggsy shakes his head a little, and sighs. “What am I gonna do?”

“What did you ask for, exactly? Your exact words?”

“Harry to be back. To be alive and well.” Eggsy says, but it’s more like a question. “I’m not sure.”

“He’s alive somewhere.” Merlin says, nodding. “You defined ‘back’ as ‘alive and well’, rather than ‘here’, so he’s somewhere, alive and well. You need to find him.”

“So you believe me?” Eggsy frowns.

“Like I said, I grew up near bean nighe. Believing in the fey is in my blood.” Merlin shrugs. “And besides, Harry was dead. I don’t care what the Americans say. He was dead. And then he wasn’t. Very few beings have that power.”

“What’s the plan, then?” Eggsy straightens, looking up at Merlin curiously. He’s not alone in this. They can get Harry back.

“You go back to the ring, go back in, challenge the queen for Harry. I stay out here and monitor the changeling.”

Okay. So maybe he is alone, effectively. But at least someone else knows, and will be watching not-Harry - the changeling. The word is familiar, like Eggsy knows it from a story he heard long ago, but he can’t remember much more about them.

“Got it.” Eggsy nods. He almost asks for weapons, then thinks better of it. He has a fireplace at home, with an iron poker. That’ll do fine.

* * *

 

When he gets home, Michelle and Daisy are, thankfully, not there. He doesn’t know what he would tell them if they were there. After some thought, trying to remember everything his grandmother had ever taught him about fairies, Eggsy takes the fireplace poker and that’s it. He can’t think of anything else that would be particularly useful against them, and he also doesn’t want to be too much of a threat. On that vein, he goes into his room and unloads all of the other weapons he has on his person. It might not be a great idea, but if nothing else he still has the knife in his shoe.

He keeps the suit on, the result of a split second decision. The suit will provide some protection, at least, and it’s just as maneuverable as anything else he might wear. Feeling a bit like an idiot, since it’s still light out, he goes out to the little patch of grass and walks around the fairy ring ten times.

It occurs to him on the eighth rotation that they might decide not to let him in this time.

After ten, he takes a breath and walks over the mushrooms and across the ring.

Just like last time, nothing happens until he crosses the mushrooms the second time, and when he does he finds himself in the same forest, tiny giggling fairies dancing behind him.

The relief that it worked again startles a laugh out of Eggsy, and he looks around to get his bearings again before heading off into the woods. It’s daylight here, too, and the music sounds different, though it’s still going on. There are still dancers, still partiers, but a lot of them are laying around the clearing, on leaves or pillows or blankets - or even sometimes using larger creatures as pillows - resting, presumably so that they can party hard again when night falls. The lights that were hanging in the air before aren’t there, and it makes the clearing feel at once more empty and more open.

The Fairy Queen is lounging across her throne, looking bored, but she perks up when she sees Eggsy, her mouth curling into a feral smile.

“Your Highness.” Eggsy says, bowing and smiling at her.

“Mordred.” She says, and there’s amusement in her voice, coiled around her words. “Did you enjoy your gift, my little fairy friend?”

Eggsy considers for a moment how to word his response, and very carefully says, “I think maybe a mistake was made. Something was returned to me, but it is not Harry Hart. You would never do something like that intentionally, of course. As Fairy Queen, you are a woman of your word.”

“Oh, but Eggsy, I never said I would return him.” She shakes her head, smiling. The curve of her lips is sinister. “Your wish was that he be alive and safe again. The fact that I gave you even a farce of him is a gift.”

“Well, then I do appreciate it. But Harry, the real Harry, is the one I love.” Eggsy hopes that using a word so strong will make her more likely to want to toy with him more, more likely to listen to him, “And so I’m here today asking if you’ll give me the chance to bring him home.”

“I will not grant you another wish.” The Fairy Queen says, tilting her chin up.

“I’m asking to earn the right to bring him back home with me. That’s all. You said he’s alive and safe somewhere. So may I find him, and bring him home?”

Her smile grows, and she nods. “Fine. But it will not be that simple. Keep your iron close - you’ll need it. There will be tests. Figuring out that our changeling was not your Hart was the first one. There will be others, and if you fail any of them, you will both be kept here, never to return to your world. Do you accept?”

Eggsy takes a breath and nods. Her smile splits her face, wicked and gleaming.

“I’ll give you a hint, then, my darling Mordred,” the Fairy Queen says, and with the shiver that runs up his spine Eggsy is thinking that was very much the  _wrong name_  to give her. She points as she speaks, looking off in the direction she’s pointing for a moment before looking back at him. “Your Hart is in that direction. You will need to find him, and you will not have any help.”

Knowing he needs to be reverent, Eggsy bows slightly, “Thank you very much for this opportunity Your Highness. I appreciate it.”

She nods dismissively, and Eggsy turns, heading in the direction she’d indicated.

* * *

 

Time works so strangely in this world. Eggsy can’t figure it out. He’ll walk for what feels like hours, getting no closer to a tree in the distance, and then all of a sudden after what feels like a few moments he’ll be right beside it. Has he only been there hours? Has it been days? He can’t tell. He never tires, never hungers, never thirsts, never even has to take a piss or a shit, so he can’t gauge how long it’s been by his bodily functions.

Eventually, Eggsy hears a horn, off in the distance. He’s never heard anything like it in person, but he has in movies. It sounds like a hunting horn, and it sends a shock of irrational fear down his spine. Fear that grips him and sets him running before he’s even realized he’s moving.

Even when he was a kid, he never felt fear like this. This is worse than when Dean first started to hit him and Eggsy was still just as confused as he was scared, worse than the first time he got arrested, worse than when Harry died, worse even than that moment in Valentine’s bunker when he thought he and Merlin were both going to be killed and that everyone he’d ever known and cared for were going to kill each other.

This is a bone deep terror, sending him running through the woods faster than he’s ever run before, vaulting over logs and ducking under branches. He feels his heart pounding in his chest, breath ragged. From a distance he can hear dogs barking and hoofbeats pounding, spurring his terror on, making him run even faster, as fast as is humanly possible. Then, maybe, even faster.

He runs and runs, for what feels like hours, days, weeks. His legs burn. One hand is scraped and sluggishly bleeding where he’d used it as leverage to vault over a log. The horn sounds again, so much closer than before, and new terror shoots through him.

And then, suddenly, he knows what’s happening.

He tightens his grip on the fireplace poker, glancing around and heading to a large tree. He skids to a stop there and whirls so his back presses up against the tree and faces the Wild Hunt.

One of the Hunting dogs that was on his heels, without him even realizing it was that close, leaps at him. He swings the poker and gets it full on in the face. The dog - a great, hulking beast, with dark fur, crazed eyes, and spittle and foam dripping from its teeth - lets out a whine and drops like a rock.

The supernatural terror drains out of Eggsy, leaving behind raw anger. There is a large host of beings in front of him, humanoid creatures on the backs of horses and deer and goats and every kind of four legged ridable animal out there. He even sees one riding a zebra. There are all manners of dogs and wolves panting alongside the riders and their steeds, and mixed in there’s the occasional two legged creature that doesn’t look remotely human at all, but appears to be at least as intelligent as the humanoid beings are. With the tree at his back, they cannot get behind him, but when he sees them out of the corners of his eyes, the beasts are even more terrible than before, skulls shining where there was once fur, eyes glowing with hellfire.

The lead Huntsman, an imposing figure wearing a great horned helmet, leans forward, his beast halted but agitated, pawing the ground, and grins. His voice is low and rough and sounds like personified sex. “She told me you were tricky, Mordred. She didn’t tell me you had will enough to turn and face my hunt, to overcome my fear.” he taps the horn at his waist.

“There’s a lot about me that none of you know.” Eggsy says, recovering quickly from the fatigue of the hunt, anger fueling his second wind, but still too tired to give a shit.

The Huntsman laughs, loud and cheerful. “So it seems.” He dismounts and removes the helmet, revealing a terrible, unearthly, uneasily inhuman beauty much like the Fairy Queen’s, walking over to Eggsy, a swagger in his step. “How would you like to be  _mine_ , child? Hunt instead of being Hunted? You have fire in your blood, and I could use you.”

Something about the Huntsman makes the offer feel seductive and intoxicating. Maybe it’s because Eggsy is too tired to be wary of it, like he was with the Queen. Maybe it’s because the Huntsman is now pressed against Eggsy, so close Eggsy can feel his hard cock underneath his clothes.

But regardless of why, the offer is tempting and seductive and intoxicating and blinding, for a moment. A moment in which Eggsy can’t remember why he’s there, why he wants to leave again, why he ever brought the iron in his hand, why he ever wanted to hurt the fairies. A moment that lasts long enough for the Huntsman to push Eggsy against the tree and kiss him, rough and claiming.

That snaps Eggsy back into himself, and he shifts his grip on the fireplace poker, pressing it against the exposed flesh of the huntsman’s neck. The Huntsman hisses and recoils, a burn already branded into his arm.

“Call off the Hunt.” Eggsy demands, brandishing the poker as menacingly as he can.

“I will.” The Huntsman says after a moment of thought. “Because you turned and faced us. Because you’re willing to fight us. However.” He reaches forward and slides his hands up Eggsy’s chest, leaning in and nipping at Eggsy’s jaw, whispering in his ear, “If you ever return here after you find your Hart, my Hunt and I will find you, and I will have you. I do not care that the Queen saw you first, Mordred. I am King and you are  _mine_.”

The Fairy King pulls away abruptly, mounting his steed once more. “I will tell you two things, child.” He points a lazy finger in one direction, “That is the way you need to go. And you need to learn that your true name is not so much your given name as it is the name you _are_. For some, those names are the same, for some they are not. Some even have more than one true name.”

“Thank you.” Eggsy says, more because he feels like he’ll get in trouble somehow if he doesn’t thank him than because he’s truly thankful. Honestly, Eggsy doesn’t quite understand the second thing the King told him. He’ll need time to think about it, but just off the top of his head he thinks it confirms what he thought, that Mordred was the wrong name to give the Fairy Queen.

Smiling, the Fairy King nods, and then makes a sharp noise, one that must mean something to the others because they all turn and start running again, in a different direction, Hunting something or someone else.

Once they’re out of sight and out of hearing range, Eggsy doubles over, leaning on the fireplace poker and giving in to hysterical half laughs, half sobs, as the last of the terror and anger towards the Hunt and the King drain from him. Shit, that was ridiculous. He can barely believe that just happened. This whole fucking thing is just too fucking much.

* * *

 

After recovering from his little meltdown, Eggsy starts walking again. The Hunt was probably one of his tests that the Queen talked about, so he’s got another one coming. But he had no idea what or when or how. He had let his guard down, before, wandering around and focusing on judging distances. Now he’s going to try and remain as alert and focused as possible on his surroundings. He’s not sure if that will actually help, the surroundings being so alien, but it won’t hurt.

Because he’s not running, not terrified out of his mind, he doesn’t tire anymore, and while he had caught a second wind after he stopped, he is more tired than he was before being chased by the Hunt. He hopes that this is over soon.

As he walks, trying to pay attention to his surroundings, trying not to get surprised by anything, his mind wanders. He never really mourned Harry, not properly. After V-Day things were just too hectic, and by the time he’d had enough breathing room, the pain had numbed down a little.

Now it feels like a fresh wound.

He’d spent weeks with not-Harry, the changeling, and the whole time he’d had a feeling at the back of his mind, persistent and yet minor and easily ignored, that something was wrong. They’d had sex. They’d had sex  _a lot_. He’d even introduced the changeling to Michelle and Daisy.

Fuck, it could have hurt them, so easily. He never would have forgiven himself if it had. It would have been his fault, for thinking he could ask a fairy for a favor and have it work out the way he wanted, for not realizing sooner that it wasn’t actually Harry, for even trying to get into the damn mushrooms at all.

But he’s fixing it now, and that’s what matters.

There’s the chance of losing Harry all over again, if he messes this up, and he hates that, hates knowing that he might very well fuck this up.

Honestly, though? He can’t imagine not doing this again if he had the choice. Even though he fucked up and missed the fact that Harry wasn’t Harry for two weeks, he’s still getting the chance to bring the real Harry back. And that’s worth anything he’s had to go through.

Maybe all of this thought does something for the way time and space interact in this place, or maybe the Hunt chasing him made him cover a lot more ground a lot faster than he thought, because it seems like he’s walking for a far shorter time before he comes out in a clearing and he knows at once that finding this place was his next test.

There is a sinister, heavy feel to the air around him, but in the clearing is a cottage that looks exactly like his grandmother’s cottage had. There’s even a wall around it, and the garden looks identical to hers. He hefts the fireplace poker and walks around the cottage, making sure there isn’t anyone or anything lurking outside. No one is visible, but he still feels like he’s being watched.

All things considered, he doesn’t quite trust the front door. But then that makes him think that he shouldn’t trust the back door, because not trusting the front door is probably the idea. So that means he can’t trust the back door. The windows then, since there’s no other doors? He’s sure he’d be able to get one open. Or is that too predictable? Maybe the front door is just best. But that is so obviously a trap! He can’t use the front door, he needs to find another way in.

No, he’s overthinking this, and he sounds like that guy in that Princess Bride movie, about not being able to trust either cup. He just needs to calm down, relax, and go in.

With a confidence he doesn’t really feel, Eggsy strides into the front door.

Nothing bad happens to him.

He does, however, appear to be in Harry’s house, instead of his grandmother’s.

Once this whole thing is over he’s never messing with the fairies again.

The Fairy Queen is standing on the stairs, just where Harry had been when Eggsy refused to shoot JB and didn’t become a Kingsman. She’s smirking at Eggsy, looking amused.

“I’m amazed you made it this far. Congratulations.” She says, walking down the stairs and coming over to stroke his cheek. “For your final test, there is some explanation required. There are three versions of your Hart in this house. You must speak with them all and come to me and tell me which one is real. If you get it right, you and your Hart will be free to go. If you get it wrong … well, from what I understand my King has laid a claim on you, which is fine with me because I will have your Hart to entertain me.”

“Fine.” Eggsy grits out, tired of all of this, and touchy at the idea of her entertaining herself with Harry.

“Come back to me when you’ve spoken to all of them.”

Eggsy nods, and starts wandering around the house. He doesn’t figure there’s a way to run into any of them outside of just wandering around, and after a few minutes he runs into one of them. He’d gone through the dining room to the kitchen, and when he enters the dining room again there’s Harry, standing next to the table and pouring a glass of whiskey out of the crystal decanter on the table. He looks up when he hears Eggsy come in and smiles, warm and familiar.

The smile makes Eggsy relax at once. It looks right. He hadn’t realized it until now, but the changeling’s smile had been off, just a little, in an undefinable way.

“I’ve missed you, Eggsy.” Harry says, setting the decanter down and striding over to Eggsy, taking his face in hand and kissing him soundly. Harry backs them both up against the wall and kisses him, firm and sweet and also possessive, but there’s also something about it that makes it very clear that if Eggsy said no, Harry would respect that.

Eggsy realizes with a sickening twist in his gut that he hadn’t felt like that with the changeling.

He feels like he’s going to vomit for a moment, and Harry pulls away, frowning. “What is it, Eggsy? You were much more responsive than this before.”

“It’s nothing. I just … I think something I ate is messing with me.” Eggsy says, knowing it sounds like a lame excuse. But Harry’s expression just changes from confusion to concern.

“We’ll get you something for your stomach, then. Go sit on the couch and I’ll fix you some tea, get you some medicine.” Harry gives him a little push, and Eggsy goes. He’s not sure how he knows, but he knows the moment he leaves the room that this Harry will be gone.

In the living room there is another Harry, eyes narrow, body tense, gun drawn and pointed at the doorway. Eggsy ducks immediately and Harry pulls up his gun, eyes wide. “Eggsy?! What are you doing here?”

Harry seems like he thinks he’s in trouble - and he definitely is - so Eggsy goes with his gut instinct reaction. “I’m here to help you.”

That makes Harry relax incrementally. He gestures Eggsy closer, and Eggsy goes. Harry nods. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there’s … creatures here. Not human. I haven’t been able to leave, but they keep bringing me food. I haven’t eaten it, and it disappears eventually. I was going to shoot one of them the next time they brought me food, but then you showed up.”

Eggsy nods. That sounds like a pretty solid plan, actually. “So now that you have backup, what’s the plan?”

“I have an extra gun here.” Harry hands it over to Eggsy, who holds it in one hand, keeping a hold on the fireplace poker with the other. That makes Harry arch his eyebrows a little, but he doesn’t comment, trusting that Eggsy knows what he’s doing. And that trust makes Eggsy’s heart ache. “We both head out, and shoot anything that tries to stop us.”

Eggsy knows it won’t work, but he still nods. “Okay, Harry. Great plan. Let’s do it.”

Harry nods, and gestures. The two of them rush through the door, and the moment Eggsy crosses the threshold, he’s alone, and the gun that he was given is gone.

It takes a lot longer to find the final Harry. He wanders around and around and around the house, every room empty. Well, almost every room. He can’t get into Harry’s bedroom - it’s the only room that won’t open. But he knocks and tries to pick the lock and even tries to beat it down with the fireplace poker and it never budges, so he assumes it’s either empty or will be important to him later.

Time moves as fluidly in this house as it does anywhere else in the fairy realm, and it feels simultaneously like hours or days or weeks when he moves into the foyer from one of the other rooms and sees Harry coming down the stairs.

“You’re late.” Harry says, but his tone is warm and friendly. Teasing and playful. Still, though, Eggsy wants to chide him.  _Eggsy_  is late? Harry’s kept him waiting for … fuck, Eggsy doesn’t even know how long, but it feels like forever. Eggsy doesn’t care, though, because Harry is here, and he has that sense of humor that Eggsy has missed, has longed for.

“Sorry, bruv.” Eggsy says, casually, smiling. “Got caught up with Mum and Daisy.”

“Well, I suppose I can forgive you if they held you up.” Harry goes over and wraps an arm around Eggsy’s waist, pulling him close for a moment and then nodding towards the other room. “Tonight I have the furniture in the sitting room pushed back, and some music queued up on my iPod for us. A gentleman should know several basic steps, if only to be able to dance at weddings, and a Kingsman agent should know several more, to blend in wherever one needs to. I won’t be able to teach you everything tonight, but we can cover a few basics.”

“That sounds great, Harry.” Eggsy says, smiling. And it does. Eggsy longs to be able to do this with the real Harry, once they’re out of the fairy realm. “Maybe I can teach you a few club moves, in exchange.” The look Harry shoots him makes Eggsy burst out laughing, even as Harry pulls away to walk into the other room, vanishing as soon as he walks across the threshold.

Working on gut instinct, Eggsy heads upstairs, and standing in front of the door to Harry’s bedroom is the fairy queen. “So, which was it? The one who kissed you, the one who wanted to fight his way out, or the one who said you were late?”

Eggsy had such a short time with each one. That was probably intentional. Keep it short, keep him on his toes, keep him unbalanced. He thinks hard, trying to figure out some flaw in one of them that would have given them away. And then he knows, suddenly and with such surety that he laughs.

“All of them.” Eggsy says, smiling.

“Are you sure?” The fairy queen asks, eyebrows arched.

“Yes. They’re all three aspects of Harry, but none of them make up all of him. So … all of them are Harry, but even they are not a complete picture.” Eggsy says and even though he’s sure, even though he knows this is right because while fairies don’t lie when they make deals they do stretch the truth as much as they can, he holds his breath as he waits for her answer.

“Very good, Mordred. You’re correct.” She smiles, though she doesn’t look particularly pleased at all, and steps away from the door. “If your Hart doesn’t treat you well, you know you can always come back to us.” As her words fade, she vanishes, simply gone, without any indication she’d ever been there.

Eggsy grabs the doorknob and opens the door. Inside, Harry is lying on his bed, on top of the blankets and wearing the same bloodstained suit he wore in Kentucky. That makes Eggsy hesitate for a moment, caught between one step and the next, and then he continues forward, rushing to Harry’s side. There’s a scar, still somewhat pink with newness, but fading, on the side of Harry’s head, but otherwise he seems fine.

“Okay, Harry. How do we do this?” Eggsy mutters, watching Harry. He can see him breathing, knows he’s alive, but he doesn’t seem in any hurry to wake up. They’re fighting against fairies, so maybe a fairy tale ending will work? Eggsy leans down and presses a kiss against Harry’s lips, pulling back and watching him.

It doesn’t work.

He tries shaking him, talking to him, kissing him again but with a bit of tongue this time, splashing water on his face, everything he can think of. Eventually, tired in a way that Eggsy hadn’t gotten in the fairy realm until now, Eggsy curls up at Harry’s side, his head on Harry’s shoulder and hand over Harry’s heart, able to feel the steady beats under his hand. In his other hand he still clutches the iron fireplace poker. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s  _safe_. As falls asleep a few angry, frustrated tears fall out of his eyes.

* * *

 

“Eggsy?” Harry’s voice wakes him, and Eggsy sits up, abruptly. They’re on the couch in Harry’s sitting room, which is not nearly comfortable enough for two grown men to sleep on. It feels fine, though. As with the bed in the fairy realm, it’s uncomfortable, but safe, and that makes up for the discomfort. Eggsy still has the fireplace poker in his hand.

“Harry!” Eggsy beams, and leans down to kiss him, both of them breathless with it by the time Eggsy pulls away.

“As lovely as that was to wake up to, I’m afraid I’m not certain I have any idea what’s going on.” Harry admits, looking puzzled.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Eggsy asks, and Harry gets a slightly shifty look on his face. It’s not a guilty look, like the last thing he remembers is Kentucky and he feels torn up about what he’s done, but a look like he has no idea if what he’s about to say will be believed. So Eggsy cuts him off and asks, “Fairies?”

“That’s what they called themselves, yes.” Harry nods.

Harry tells Eggsy his part of things. Harry woke up after Kentucky in a strange place, one where time seemed to run oddly and the people weren’t human. They nursed him back to health, sometimes used a mirror or a still pond to show him what was happening with Eggsy and with Kingsman. He saw the changeling taking over his life, saw it pretending to be him, and railed in frustration against his jailers. Which was what they had become, despite their protests that he was their guest. Whenever he demanded that he be freed, they had said that because he had eaten their food and consumed their drink, he was theirs forever, unless someone came to get him.

“And then one day, that woman, the queen, told me that someone was coming for me. She kissed me and I felt myself falling asleep. Next thing I knew I was waking up next to you.” Harry says, looking at Eggsy with a proud little smile. “Of course, I know a little of what happened, because they let me see some of it, but I only got part of the picture. What happened?”

Eggsy explains everything to Harry, starting with what he did after Harry left for Kentucky. That’s not part of the events with the fairies, but Harry nevertheless deserves to hear about V-Day. He tells Harry about what happened after, and when he starts talking about fairies, he backtracks a little, talks about his grandmother and how she taught him all about them when he was a child, then continues. By the end of it, Harry has a complicated expression on his face.

“Mordred. Given everything that’s happened, that’s quite apt. As the fairy queen no doubt told you, he was one of the members of the round table that was a child of Morgan le Fay, a fairy herself in some myths.” He says, gently nudging Eggsy up and heading into the kitchen to make tea. Eggsy follows, holding on to the fireplace poker the whole way. This doesn’t feel like the fairy realm any longer, he knows they’re home, but he still likes the safe feel of the iron in his hand, heavy and solid. He does set it aside once they’re in the kitchen, though. “We should go talk to Merlin, let him know I’m all right. After tea, and a change of clothes for the both of us.” Harry looks down at them both significantly.

For the first time since preparing to enter the fairy realm, Eggsy takes stock of his own appearance. He’s covered in dirt and grime and there are worn spots on his suit in a few places, though they are small given that this is a Kingsman suit. As if he’s been wearing it every day for years. His hands immediately go to his face - he’s not vain, but he does want to know if he’ll scare his sister and basically everyone he knows next time he sees them, aging decades overnight - and Harry shakes his head, guessing at Eggsy’s worries.

“I’m certain you would have told me if I had aged, and you look the same age, as well.  Besides, neither of us seem to have any significant hair or fingernail growth, which would be a sure sign that our bodies had aged. I don’t have any idea how that world worked, and I don’t want to think too heavily about it, either.” Harry says, and the teakettle whistles far too cheerfully at them, breaking them out of the somber mood.

* * *

 

They clean up and get dressed, having to stop at Eggsy’s place to get Eggsy a good change of clothes. While they’re there, they grab Eggsy’s phone and check the time and date, discovering it is the day after Eggsy went into the fairy realm, in the early afternoon. Both of their watches are off, by different amounts of time, though they’re not sure just how off either are, since the little number indicating the date is _also_  wrong on both of their watches.

Then they head to Kingsman and go to find Merlin. It takes them a couple of tries, because it’s a busy day for him, and he’s running between departments. But when they do, he glances between them, sees the look on Eggsy’s face, and grins. He leads them off to a quiet corner and glances between them.

“I did it.” Eggsy says, a wide smile splitting his face.

“Good.” Merlin lets out a relieved sigh, smiling, too, and pulling Harry in for a hug. Eggsy isn’t sure he’s ever seen Merlin show that much emotion for someone, but after everything, he and Harry both deserve it. Harry hugs him back a moment, then they separate as Merlin continues, “The changeling disappeared this morning. I hoped that meant you did it, but I wasn’t sure.”

It is a busy day for Merlin, but he makes time to meet with them and make sure Harry is caught up on everything. Eggsy remembers the changeling having a meeting with Arthur for the same purpose, one that Eggsy hadn’t been in because he’d been briefing for a mission, and he just listens to this one. Nothing in it comes as a surprise, and soon they’re done.

“We’re going to head home,” Harry says, “We wanted to see you, reassure you in person that I was all right, but now that we’re done with that, we’re taking the remainder of the day off. Can you cover for us with Arthur, if he asks?”

“Of course.” Merlin nods.

Eggsy’s surprised. He would have thought Harry would have wanted to get right back into things with Kingsman. After all, when Harry woke up after being _blown up_  when he confronted Professor Arnold, he was back to work as soon as possible, and that level of dedication to the job seems typical for Harry. Eggsy doesn’t protest, though, heading back to Harry’s place with him. When they get there, Harry goes to where he has several takeout menus stashed and says, “If you’re agreeable to it, I’d like you to stay here with me. Eat dinner with me.”

“Yeah.” Eggsy says, possibly sounding a little too eager, “Yeah, that’d be great.”

They pick a menu and order in, and once it’s arrived and they’re eating, Eggsy says, “What do we do about the fairies now?”

“What do you mean?” Harry asks.

“I mean … do we tell people? Is there someone to tell about this kind of thing? Are  _we_ the people you tell about this kind of thing?” Eggsy wants the fireplace poker nearby again. He manages to resist the urge to look around for it by remembering that it’s at his place, not here at Harry’s, but when he remembers the sheer terror he felt in the Hunt he almost asks Harry if he has any pure iron sitting around.

“I think that they probably won’t bother us again.” Harry says slowly, thoughtfully. “But if they do, we’ll be prepared. And I think we should prepare other people the only way we can - the same way your grandmother did.”

“She told me stories when I was a kid.” Eggsy is confused a moment, then frowns deeply, “You mean tell Daisy about them?”

“You said she’s living with you in that house, right near the fairy circle. Teaching her how to respect them, keep their rites and rituals, will keep her safe.” Harry points out, and Eggsy hates it, but he knows Harry is right. He nods. Harry glances down at their food, about half eaten now, and says, “The most pressing concern on my mind, though, was something else.”

“Yeah?” Eggsy asks, frowning.

“Are you … the fairy queen showed me things through mirrors, including you and the changeling … together.” Harry seems to be having trouble with his words, which is unusual for him, and Eggsy isn’t really sure why he seems so nervous. “I just wanted to make sure you were all right. I mean … it did use my face to have sex with you.” He looks up, and Eggsy sees the heat in his eyes, and Eggsy realizes it’s not nerves. It’s much more complex than that. Fury at the changeling combined with worry for Eggsy, and maybe a little discomfort.

Eggsy smiles, reaching across the table to take Harry’s hand. “I’m okay. I mean, I might not be in a while, once it really sinks in, but I’m okay.” And he is, for now. But he knows that he won’t be in the future, once he actually faces what happened. What Harry’s saying is making him realize what he hadn’t before, what the urgency of the moment had made him overlook. The changeling had lied to Eggsy about his identity to make Eggsy have sex with him. Repeatedly. It seems really close to something that Eggsy and Roxy, as brand new agents getting briefing information, had been told that Kingsman counselors would be available to talk about, if they ever encountered it in the field.

Harry nods. “I’m glad you’re alright, but you can talk to me if you need to. And if you find you need to be away from me, we can do that as long as it makes you feel safe.”

“I don’t think I’ll have to avoid you.” Eggsy shakes his head. He wants this conversation to end before he has to actually face what he’s trying to repress. Harry feels safe to him, despite what the changeling did, and he’s determined to prove it. “How about, if I wanna talk to you about it, or if I wanna talk about it at all, I’ll let you know. Otherwise can we just go pick up where we left off when our 24 hours ended?”

That makes Harry smile, and he nods. “I don’t know if I’m feeling energetic enough to pick up quite where we left off, but I think I can manage something.” A strange sense of relief fills Eggsy. Maybe he isn’t quite yet ready to pick up exactly where they left off either, no matter how much repression he manages.

* * *

 

Eggsy goes home that night, so that Michelle and Daisy aren’t going to miss him another night, and to give them time to rest. Once all of the adrenaline and the joy of being back home, safe and together had worn off, they’d discovered that they were both extremely physically and emotionally exhausted. Staying apart overnight will be good for them, will give them the chance to rest and recuperate in their own beds.

The fairy ring is still in the little patch of grass when Eggsy passes it. He’d half expected it to be gone. Eggsy has half a mind to smash it to bits.

But, no. He needs to continue to show them respect, even if now that he’s met them he’s starting to fear them more than respect them. And he needs to learn more about them. See if there isn’t more true information out there somewhere he can arm himself with.

He heads inside and gets ready for bed. The last thing he does, as he does every night when he’s home, and as he probably will as long as he lives near a fairy ring, is put a bowl full of milk and bread and honey outside his door for the fairies.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Regarding the rape warning - during the course of the fic there is a fairy character who is pretending to be Harry and who has sex under those false pretenses with Eggsy. Because Eggsy believes he is having sex with Harry and has no idea he's having sex with a changeling, I consider this to be non-consensual/rape of Eggsy on the part of the changeling. This is not graphic, and in fact aside from the beginning of the scene, the sex happens entirely off screen. However, I do feel that it deserves a warning. There is also non-consensual kissing, and much later there is discussion of what occurred between Eggsy and the changeling.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Changeling [Illustration]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4635903) by [marourin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/marourin/pseuds/marourin)




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